It’s not persuasion, my dears.
Those who don’t want to read further – feel free to close your eyes.
But be very careful:
if, inside you, rests a big question that impatiently rushes,
a question bigger than a hill,
and a twinkling soul that believes in miracles,
and if, inside you, some beauties are wave
and some lights are being born,
than it’s completely the same whether your eyes are closed
or not
because miracles are already happening.

Heroes,
put your faces into the pillow!
Let imagination fly like a locomotive!
I understand all your worries
and clumsiness
and fear,
but here: today I’m helping everyone remember
why they sulk and smile in the same time.
Heroes,
put your faces into the pillow!
Nobody has to know what’s up.
It’s important that something exists and that that something lasts
and I say:
it’s not really persuasion
Those who don’t want to listen further – they can shut their ears.
What matters is what is hidden inside us,
in the soul.

And this poem is an eye that can see even through the dark.
You won’t fool it like your dad and mom.

2

Here is just a little something more about first love:
may noone forget – it is eternal after all.
But it’s like the sky that stirred up
when, at dawn it fell into river mirrors.
It will stay shy and slender
in some future old ladies
who are now secretly dreaming of cut laurels
and rushing to finish their homework in time,
and in some future retirees
who are wading through mud and hopping through puddles,
collecting pictures of football players
and getting Fs because of Pythagoras’ theorem.
It’s the most beautiful swing between
joy and loneliness
when you want it the most,
and nobody knows what it wants.
And when years pass into infinity… into the distance…
and many beauties go by
and many flowers wither,
only first love will remain somewhere in the eye,
in some ordinary things,
in albums that turned yellow,
like eternaly new unknown worlds.

Finally,
first love brings first wrinkle
somewhere here on your forehead
and it follows you your entire life

It brings first sorrow and first jealousy
and makes you suffer for the first time.

And suddenly, the entire world looks different to you.
Something’s burning inside your head,
something’s roaring
and boiling.
It’s not like math.
Two and two are often – five
and often – not even three.

Don’t ask where from, all of a sudden, the southeast wind is blowing.
It might not even be wind.
It’s the first love sighing.

Don’t ask how come the rain falls heavier.
It might not even be a heavy rain,
but someone crying over love
and his eyelashes are salty
and his sleeves are salty
like oversalted lunch and like oceans.

After all,
what’s the point in further lecturing on first love.
Help yourself,
just help yourself,
and then if you feel the same – say it,
and if it’s not the same – than all of this doesn’t apply.